


Bloody Dawn

by MorningGlory21



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers, Statetalia
Genre: Gen, aph states, none of these tags wanna work, posting my old work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:50:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22030279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MorningGlory21/pseuds/MorningGlory21
Summary: The Lawrence Massacre was a highly controversial and politically motivated event. Undertaken in 1863 by Confederate-aligned guerillas, many of whom had been active during Bleeding Kansas, nearly 150 men and boys were killed. In Northern and Southern papers it was railed against; however, to the radical supporters of slavery it was a justified and cumulnation of events from years past.This is the story told from the eyes of Kansas; Miss Evelyn Lawrence.





	Bloody Dawn

> Far in the West rolls the thunder—
> 
> The tumult of battle is raging
> 
> Where bleeding Kansas is waging
> 
> War against Slavery! 

T he sun was peeking it’s warm head up from the horizon. The sounds of the nearby river were a soothing background noise and the air was already turning warm. Brushing hair from her face, Evelyn looked around at her small farm of a few chickens and a cow. Of course, her horse was grazing peacefully, tail swishing blithely. The early morning promised heat; the air thrummed with early-rising insects and something Evelyn just couldn’t seem to pinpoint. It annoyed her when things, especially the events and going-ons of her own land, eluded her. Faintly, she wondered if writing a letter to Seth back in Massachusetts would be needed, would be wanted by him. But the bitter sting of an earlier fight (hah! He hadn’t wanted her to fight, but she was  _ Kansas _ , war was her definition and cornerstone) still clung to her mind like a burr and she quickly recanted the idea. Patting down her uniform (Union Blue, thank you very much) to rid herself of dust, her sweaty hair fell in front of her eyes once again. 

Again, she pushed hair from her eyes and the small beads of sweat accumulating on her brow. Perhaps if she’d been far older, the state would have noticed minute details that wronged the atmosphere. Sadly, she only noticed the sweat and the great thirst she was garnering. Sighing faintly to herself, Evelyn rubbed her neck and winced at the contact on a scar hidden by her shirt.  Grimacing slightly to herself, the young state pressed a tentative finger to a still tender and pink scar on her collarbone, to check on how it felt. Wincing at the touch, she drew her finger away. When had she gotten that one? The same question could be asked for the countless scars littering her body (however, she could point to you the scars left behind by the Pottawatomie Massacre and the Battle of Black Jack), some fresh and many older, healed and barely there anymore. She’d given up track on keeping a tally for them once she became a state; no need to do so when she’d only get more. They were like bugs under rocks, breeding and hiding in the dark. 

Letting out a heaving sigh, the young woman (her body had progressed insofar of looking like that of a 16 year old girl and yet she kept much of her own boyish looks of broader shoulders and shorter hair) shuffled away tools for tidying-up. Rubbing her hands on her pants, she made her way to her porch and slid down into an old chair (hadn’t it been a gift from the North?). Finally allowing herself to take in the air and skies and sounds, Evelyn closed her eyes. She had more work to do (check the chickens, brush down her steed and feed the dogs), but she’d been constantly working for so long. It was sad, she had to remark to herself, that it was a blurry mess of when she last simply sat down and experienced her own lands.

The sweet smells of the trees, the river and distant prairies filled her mind and nose. Wildflowers, trees green and lush, with fruit ripe for the picking. Dappled by sunlight and filled with grasses that danced and swayed to the winds. Like the breezes of the prairies themselves, images of the dead seemed to breeze right in, laying in ravines or on the grounds, spotting the land with their blood and stifling the air with their last prayers for freedom.    


Smoke billowing from buildings, mothers and daughters running for their lives and their fathers and brothers and uncles and grandfathers and cousins lives with fire on their heels, the devil himself there with a gun and knife made of the blackest steels and bullets made of wicked teeth…

Blinking in shock, Evelyn opened her eyes and swiftly shielded them from the sun finally making it’s full presence known. But now, with that vision in her mind’s eye, she realized something was wrong. Distantly, carried by the winds like a messenger to it’s king, she could eke out the sounds of gunfire and yelling. Stunned, she leapt to her feet, not really aware of where they were carrying her. Evelyn only had her rickety hunting knife (hadn’t Missouri given her this one? She nearly threw the knife right there in to the trees) and her guts to guide her. That’d worked before and why would this be any different? She’d made up her mind long before she’d left the fences of her farm and beat the trail to Lawrence, that this wouldn’t be any different from any other battle she’d been in. 

The billowing smoke told her, at least subconsciously, that this was different. Lawrence was a city of civilians, not men of war.

* * *

> On the lintels of Kansas
> 
> That blood shall not dry;
> 
> Henceforth the Bad Angel
> 
> Shall harmless go by;
> 
> Henceforth to the sunset,
> 
> Unchecked on her way,
> 
> Shall Liberty follow
> 
> The march of the day.

Feet soft and tender like a doe’s, Evelyn made her way through kicked over fences and towards the town. Eyes flickering this-way and that-way, she had to be cautious. The roiling feeling in the pit of her stomach seemed to well up even more as Evelyn closed the distance from the farms outside the town to the town proper.  It felt like someone had dropped a weight into her belly, trying to drag her down like prey. Bared before her was Lawrence; burning and infested with  _ bugs.  _ The fires were worse; from far away, yes, you could see the smoke billowing like a baker’s oven and the sounds of gunfire  _ rat-a-tat-tat  _ and  _ boom!  _ Oozed across the treetops and prairies. But up close, one could see the true savagery the town was witness and victim to. Panic seared her thoughts; the federal troops had left just a few days ago and the ones left behind were ordered to keep secret. They had become lax and lazy because the people of the town had been left in the dark.

The sounds of battle quieted in volume as Evelyn quickly steered herself to the areas behind shops and homes, smoldering with sickly embers and burning wood. Evelyn gagged when she saw the burnt corpse of a...man...it was difficult to discern. Dropping closer to the ground, the blonde made sure her footsteps were light as a feather. The sickening feeling of being so close to the carnage and wanton murder of her people made a deep, roiling feeling bubble in her stomach. Shifting the knife in her hand, she tried to peek around store corners.  However, the armory wasn’t in sight and men on horseback rampaged about, whooping and hollering. Some were on foot, tearing men and boys from the arms of women and...Evelyn had to look away. She’d seen battle wounds and had experienced them before, but now? She was watching her own civilians be torn from their beds, from the warm embraces, that she hadn’t experienced first hand, of their families. Hands gripped the brick and wood structure of the store she hid behind.

Oh how she felt like a coward; she’d love to run out there, a rallying-call to her people to push and  **fight!** But at the same time, the more logical side of her, one not persuaded by the rage and fear of the populace, convinced her to stay back. If she were to die, it wouldn’t help one bit. A more cynical side of her grumbled that it would waste them a bullet or two. Evelyn decided to ignore that comment.  Steeling her resolve, Evelyn carried on in her alleyway slinking. She felt drawn to the vortex of the pillage; the Freedom Hotel . Her head ached and her muscles cried out for a reprieve, but Evelyn was on her own warpath, fueled by her wounded and frightened populace. So much in her own thoughts, Evelyn did not seem to notice that her alleyway walks had caught the attention of a vengeful and spiteful man. Youth begets dulled senses, and inflated egos, as they say. 

* * *

> Do not think that I have come to bring peace to the earth. I have not come  to bring peace, but a sword.
> 
> ~ Matthew 10:34

A rough hand grasped her by her shoulder and like a firecracker, Evelyn fought with all her might. However, she seemed...weakened. And she didn’t have her gun on her and faintly, she realized that her knife had been wrangled out of her hands. She barely even processed the man’s words; something along the lines of me getting what I deserved. What did he mean? 

And then it hit her; she was wearing her Union uniform. Throat tightening, Evelyn tried to struggle to her feet, to bleat out a prayer for safety and that she was a  _ woman,  _ not a man. But it refused to come out, only choking sounds able to make their way past her trembling lips as she staggered to her feet before being pushed back down. Looking back up feebly (Lord, she hated having to be described that way!), Evelyn stared at the barrel of a gun and then,

_ Nothing. _

_ Evelyn had always wondered what it’d be like to die. Long ago, she had asked Missouri and he seemed to ponder it. She’d been too young at the time, but he’d given her an elusive answer, hand waving dismissively, _

_ “You won’t ever experience it. So don’t worry about it.” _

_ And she had asked Massachusetts, who seemed to look through her (he didn't know if she'd become a free state or not; would he care she had died had she had been a slave state?) and shook his head and gave the same elusive and dismissing statement.  _

_ “Don't worry about it”  not like I'll care if you don't become like me.  _

_ She resented them both for it. _

_ And she had listened to funerals and sermons by pastors about death. When you died, you went to Heaven if you were good and holy. If not, you went to Hell. Where did those like her go? Would she come back? Would she be different when she did come back?  _

_ But now, she wished she’d been given some kind of warning. Something, so at least she’d have one thing to cling onto in this seemingly endless space. This didn’t look or feel like Heaven nor Hell. She felt so lonely. She grasped out for something and only found smoke. Ethereal and elusive; something she  hated.  A million things ran rampant in her mind, in this space,  _

_ Like howling beasts;  like the men who destroyed Lawrence.  _

_ Like buzzing insects in the heat;  like them.  _

_ Like suffocating heat and pain and fear and anger that seemed to grow.  _

* * *

> Blessed be the Lord, my rock, who trains my hands for war,  and my fingers for battle;

A pain soon grew from her head and faintly, the smoke around her spun and solidified into buildings and rubble and the morning sun choked by the smoke from dead architecture. Evelyn let out a hissed gasp and tears sprang to her eyes. She was being tended to, by a firm faced woman (Mary Wagstaff, from Vermont), hands quick but gentle. Gentle murmurs eased her tears and Evelyn didn't want to speak.  She realized that were no bandages to her head and Evelyn limply touched at her temple.  _ Nothing.  _ Had she healed that fast? None of her other wounds had closed this fast before. Her head spun and Mary urged a canteen of water to her lips. It tasted like God's gift and Evelyn eagerly lapped it up. Mary conducted one final sweep over Evelyn’s body and took back her canteen. 

“Evelyn… I'm sorry if anything happened to you. But we'll be strong for you; that I can promise. Strong for the Union and strong for this state. Just be strong for us.”

Abashed, Evelyn nodded and looked away. Most of Lawrence knew about her; she liked to be open to her friends and neighbors. Mary gave a small nod and hurried off to check on any others. There would be others.  Rising shakily onto quivering legs, Evelyn held her pounding head. She wanted to stay, she did. But not if she couldn't if the feeling of something putrid haunted the pits of her stomach. 

She wanted to go home.

And home her legs carried her, the pants that protected them scuffed and burned. The heat was so much worse now with the sun up, but Evelyn was used to it. The sickness that dropped into her belly seemed to subside as she made her way away from the town.  Seeing the fences she had erected made her feel overwhelmed with relief. Although she had only been away for hours, although it felt like centuries, it felt like Evelyn was returning from home to a loving wife; like in the songs! Letting out a small chuckle, the blonde pushed into the farm. Her animals either rested in their stalls or, like the chickens, wandered the yard. Here, farther from the carnage and smoke (which was still visible, like a silent monolith in the sky), Evelyn’s mind was clear. 

Finding her chair that provided a spot for her to think, the young state slid into the chair. Rubbing tired, shaking hands against her face for some kind of comfort, Evelyn closed her eyes. She wanted to smell the beautiful air, with the swaying flowers and waving trees.  But the smell was tainted by smoke and blood. Promises of retribution and settled grievances settled towards the ground, threatening to be disturbed by passersby, like dust. Hands gripping onto her knees, Evelyn ground out her teeth. She felt so weak and taken advantage of. A steady sense of rage and bitterness overcame her sorrow and helplessness. Those raiders were Rebels, she was almost certain. Who else would burn the city home and virtual capitol to free-staters and Union citizens? 

Eyes still closed, Evelyn let out a shaky breath, filled with malice and venom. She’d find them all and kill them. Every single one of them. And if not her, then surely their terrible deeds would catch up on them and kill them too. She’d be strong until then, until the evil were paid their dues and the good were redeemed from their terrible crimes. 

**She’d see to it.**

**Author's Note:**

> This is an OLDER piece of mine, from about November of last year. I may need to change some things later on, but I wanted it to be published just so I know it's out there. Let me know how you enjoyed it!


End file.
